


Stealing

by charcoalscenes



Series: Backdated Publications [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Fear, Implied/Referenced Animal Mistreatment, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: Astral does not mean ill, but also hasn't come to Earth with a guide on ethics.(Posted to AO3 on February 2021 with a Backdated Publication date from when it posted to Tumblr.)
Relationships: Astral/Tsukumo Yuuma
Series: Backdated Publications [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170983
Kudos: 2





	Stealing

**Author's Note:**

> Actual publication into AO3 is on February 2021. This is an old piece I shared on Tumblr and wanted to post using this site's Backdate feature. More older fics will likely be added onto the Backdated Publications series, so for anyone interested in this piece or in checking out the others, enjoy!

Humans are warm, soft. Yuma’s arms are growing harder, but his cheeks remain things to be squished. This is the fifth day he has seen me. He makes a noise, his brow creasing down, his eyes rolling in irritation, and though he is restrained, his fists and feet use the little space the cuffs give them to bang the table in rage. “You, again!?”

He has grown used to me. He screamed, the first day. And endlessly, even on the second. Now, he sighs. It’s a heavy sigh, one without a prolonged inhale before, his breath abruptly leaving his chest and almost squeaking as it escapes his throat, and his teeth are bared and his mouth is wide as the sigh gradually becomes a short cry of frustration. Humans have always emitted strange noises. But Yuma’s have been the strangest. His face, too. His eyes go wide and his neck cranes his head less than an inch away, because that’s all that the band binding his neck to my table will allow. His mouth twitches, one side of his upper-lip moving up. I know this look. Disgust, offense. “Stop _touch_ ing me!” He shouts. His voice can sound hard and grating during one syllable, like strong wind rustling a large and heavy piece of cloth, and high the next - like the sound that the smaller mammals often made when I was first studying their nervous systems. 

My hand stays still at his demand, just over the pores gushing out sweat and heat, but just not touching is not enough for him. I see the intent on his face before he takes action; how his eyes dart just slightly at me before focusing back on my hand. His teeth snap at air as I quickly float back, his tiny bones snapping, loud in the silence of my chamber. The shape of his mouth and the tightness between the top and bottom rows of his teeth don’t change as his eyes gleam at me. He is seething, angry. More than most humans, Yuma becomes angry easily. And he is braver. 

He forces himself not to try fruitlessly to shuffle away as I draw closer again; his jaw locks, his fists clench, his bare feet curl their toes. His breath has no rhythm, he shivers, but he keeps himself still. He blinks hard when I ask him, “Why are you so strong?”

Much of the fear slumps off him, washed by an upturned nose and raised eyebrow, his mouth sneering again. “S- _Strong_ …?” His voice is higher when he is confused. “Tch. What are you going on about now? And stop being so close!” He mutters, “Weirdo.”

It starts to hurt again. I ease back and catch his gaze snapping suspiciously at my right eye. His eyes do many things when they are terrified. They can tremble, they can also freeze. They are still as he stares at it, and he already saw before I raised a hand to cover it. “H-Hey. What’s happening to you? Why are you doing that?” 

Nothing changes in him, and he doesn’t know it, but I can feel his insides now, if only just a bit. More than his skin, more than his breath, he feels hot where a part of me has been planted. There was nothing like this from the other mammals, the other humans, not even in my world. Hot like his breath, careless like what the feel of his loose arms might be if he would. A cozy, vulnerable little vessel. I let my hand fall as I turn, and he sees, without comprehending, the part of me that I had released. “What happened to you? What happened to your eye? Hey-!”

He is on his bed now, jolting upright and stopping himself in the middle of a roar. The unused sheets are cold beneath his body, but he would have overturned his hammock if I had sent him back there, and there were already enough sensations besides pain for me to revel in. His heart beat the way his fists would when strapped on my table, and the back of his neck is delicately fingered by drops of sweat trickling down, the almost tickling feeling helping to make Yuma’s back shiver. But there are a lot of other reasons as to why he is shaking. 

I reach out, touching and caressing the part of him which fears me, and at my contact through our new link, his arms shoot up and hold on tightly to himself. Yes. He should be.


End file.
